


Unbreakable Bond

by Luthienberen



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: grimm_exchange, Gen, Gen Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious death in Forest Park leads to Monroe going missing. Nick races to find his friend. (This is a gen friendship fic, but it can be read as pre-slash.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbreakable Bond

**Beta Reader:** rae_fa ****

****

**Pairing:** Nick, Monroe friendship. ( _It can also be read as Pre-slash if you are so inclined.)_  
 **Warnings:** H/C, a little Angst, Spoilers for episode 6  & 7 specifically, but possibly earlier ones as well

**Word Count:** ~ 19,103

 

**A/N:** ****This was written for the grimm_exchange on Dreamwidth for takadainmate.

  
  


 

Nick knocked on Monroe’s door, juggling the six-pack of beer he had cradled against his chest, along with an array of other goodies. He hoped Monroe would hurry as the evening was damp and cold. An early mist was snaking its way around the houses in Monroe’s neighbourhood casting everything in shifting shadows.

The gloomy atmosphere it created sent shivers down Nick’s spine. Frankly he had never liked the deceptiveness of mist or fog; of how easily it tricked the senses, causing the mind to perceive what wasn’t really there. Now that he was a Grimm and knew that monsters really _did_ lurk in the shadows he was even less keen on anything that helped them hide.

Hey, you never knew when there would be a creature out there eager to exact some revenge on the new resident Grimm. So, Nick actually had a very good excuse for not being enthusiastic about what some people called ‘atmosphere setting’ conditions.

Nope, the only use for mist was to befuddle you and make it easier for anything with a vendetta (or a creature you’re hunting), to attack first.

Nick shifted on his feet wishing Monroe would hurry. The night was deepening as the mist obscured the stars and moon, so that the minimal street lights were rapidly becoming mere dots in the murky sea winding around him. The faint yellowish pinpricks reminded Nick of the tales of Will o’ the Wisps from Britain, lights borne by mischievous spirits to lure unwary travellers to their deaths.

On the heels of these comforting thoughts the wolf door swung open spilling much welcome light onto the porch. Nick almost dropped his treasure in shock and the rush of relief the light and the sight of Monroe brought.

“Hey Monroe, I’ve bought the beer.”

His friend snorted. “I can see that. Want a hand?” Without waiting for an answer the taller man snatched the beer and huge packet of chips from Nick.

“You know,” commented Monroe, “you could have waited for me to open the door and help instead of lugging all the food and beverages in one go.”

“Why wait? It means we can get more movies in.” There was absolutely no chance that Nick was going to admit that a bit of mist had spooked him, nor that he had been scaring himself silly with folklore legends. Monroe would never let him live it down.

Never.

Monroe raised an eyebrow and moved inside so Nick could follow. He sniffed as he did, grinning. “You do realise I know when you’re lying right?”

_Damn._ “Don’t know what you implying.”

“Sure. _Hey!_ ” Thankfully, Monroe was distracted. He had caught the label on the beer bottles. “Oh dude, you actually bought over some quality beer! I knew I was having a positive influence on you!”

Nick laughed, revelling in his friend’s pleasure. “Yeah…well, considering you keep huffing whenever I bring or drink that ‘substandard’ stuff as you call it, I figured surrendering was less painful than dragging the battle out.”

Eyes a deep brown darted his way, Monroe shaking his head as he went into the kitchen and placed the beer and chips on the counter.

“Surrender huh? I obviously need to continue narrating the merits of excellent, _quality,_ _real coffee_ to you, since my efforts have succeeded so far.”

Nick stepped up beside Monroe, his arm pressing against his friend’s. Their bodies were so close that Nick was warmed by the heat rolling off his friend, his own body heat surely affecting Monroe.

“Narrating? You got the wrong word there. I think ‘nagging’ is more appropriate.”

Monroe didn’t even bother answering this blatant jibe, instead giving Nick a strong, but playful nudge with his shoulder.

Nick smiled in response, dumping the remaining items onto the counter beside the chips and beer. Not so long ago Monroe would have shied away from such physical contact, leaving it to Nick to always initiate touch at the very beginning of their relationship.

Monroe had been so cautious, drilling such discipline into his self in an attempt to suppress the bloodthirsty aspect of his nature. Feeling had been relegated to safer pursuits: the minute, exquisite repairing of clocks, the routine of Pilates and the sweet chords of cello music.

Then a Grimm, newly minted, had blown into his life and scattered his regime like leaves thrown about by a tornado. Thank goodness for Monroe being a Wieder Blutbad otherwise Nick would most definitely not have stayed a new Grimm for long, instead ending up as a dead Grimm.

So yeah, they had met, argued, fought over Nick continually barging into Monroe’s world until finally they were becoming something more: Nick getting away with clapping his hand on Monroe’s shoulder, nettling him and observing how much Monroe was thrilled at being the teacher of (admittedly, someone who was meant to be his mortal enemy) Portland’s new Grimm.

This had continued right up until Angelina had shown up and almost destroyed their burgeoning friendship. Nick didn’t blame Monroe for Hap’s death, though he understood why Monroe blamed himself. He also understood why Monroe hadn’t handed Angelina in, but personally, if she ever showed her face again around Monroe? Nick would live up to his ancestors’ reputation and shoot first.

Afterwards Monroe had been quiet, brooding over those crazy days and the combined grief and guilt over Hap’s death. He had not been receptive to Nick’s displays of physicality. For Nick, touching was automatic and he hadn’t realised how frequently he did it around Monroe and how fixated Monroe had become in his life until he had nearly lost it.

So, the whole stint with Holly had been a relief in one respect: it had re-balanced them. With one excursion into the forest and Nick’s protest that Monroe was his friend to the gun-toting brothers they were back on track.

Now Nick could stand beside Monroe and relax in the comfort supplied at the causal brushing of their arms.

“Nick? You okay?”

Nick blinked, emerging from the pit his memories had taken him, to find Monroe staring at him with amusement, though he could detect slight concern lurking at the edges.

“Huh? Nothing, just a bit lost in my thoughts.”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

“Hilarious Monroe…not.” Nick broke eye contact and picked up the bag of popcorn, waving it at Monroe. “Which bowl do you want me to pour this into?”

“None yet.”

“Um, why?”

“Because.”

“Okay,” said Nick slowly. “Care to elaborate?” There was no answer so Nick watched in growing confusion as Monroe crossed to his fridge and pulled out a plastic wrapped dish. With great ceremony the Blutbad peeled the plastic off and waved Nick closer.

Walking to the small kitchen table Nick peered into the dish. “Lasagne?”

“Not simply any lasagne, but vegetarian, made with the freshest ingredients. Ingredients purchased at the local market of a calibre your poor taste-buds have probably never sampled.” Monroe smirked at the end of his little announcement.

Nick was amazed, if impressed, at Monroe’s sneering diagnosis of the state of his food experience. “Wow, Monroe, you know how to make a guy feel on top of the world instead of being an uncivilised grunt.”

“I try.”

Their gazes locked and they lasted barely a minute before laughing. After a couple minutes of uninterrupted laughter, Nick managed to stop, if only to save his lungs. Gasping for breath and wiping his tears away he straightened.

“So, why the lasagne? I thought I was coming over just for a beer and treat film night?”

Monroe looked serious. “And have you faint from lack of energy? You’ve been overworking yourself this entire week, dashing back and forth from the station, home and here asking Grimm related questions, not to mention that on at least three occasions, _within  two days_ , where when you did stagger through my door you inhaled three bagels and a bowl of my salad…which I was rather relishing at the time.”

“Sorry?” offered Nick.

Rolling his eyes Monroe moved to the oven, which Nick now realised was already warmed and ready. With an efficient flick of the wrist his friend inserted the lasagne into the oven and shut the door.

Next, he pushed up the sleeves of his brown cardigan and fetched a bread loaf. Monroe continued his rant. “So, I figured you clearly weren’t eating right and it is my duty as your partner in Grimm stuff, to actually feed you proper food before you get yourself killed by passing out at an inappropriate moment.”

“Just as my partner?” Nick needled.

“Fine, as your friend as well, idiotic Grimm.”

Nick however, ignored the embarrassed grumbling and smirking leaned next to Monroe. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Listen to yourself, do you ever grow weary of antagonising your friendly Blutbad?”

Nick pretended to grant this serious consideration. “Nope,” he responded cheerfully, “because it’s too entertaining not to and as you said you are friendly.”

Monroe had a ‘why me’ expression on his face. “I may bite.”

“No you wouldn’t. I trust you.”  Nick gripped his friend’s arm, turning Monroe to meet his gaze. He was anxious that Monroe believed him. The Blutbad looked uneasy but shrugged.

“Yeah, well, I may have to start.”

Nick snorted. “Okay then. Want any help?”

“Yes, retrieve the garlic and butter paste from the fridge will you? I’m making garlic bread.”

“On my way.”

~ * ~

In the end they devoured the entire lasagne, Nick starving the second his nose caught the splendid aromas of Monroe’s dishes. He was eternally grateful for his friend’s concern.

Afterwards, once the dishes had been washed, they moved onto their film night. While Monroe warmed up the popcorn, Nick arranged the beer bottles on the low table in the living room and popped a movie into the player. It was the original 1941 classic _The Wolf Man_ with Lon Chaney Jr. Monroe had been exasperated by Nick’s selection, but the Grimm had succeeded in cajoling his friend into seeing the film on the basis of how many things the directors got wrong.

It took a few minutes of intense persuasion but at last Monroe saw the funny side and agreed to his plans.

The rest of the evening therefore was spent watching that and a handful of other classics until their snarking wound down to sleepy whispers, which itself eventually wore away into silence.

In the dim light of Monroe’s living room Blutbad and Grimm slept.

 

~ * ~

Monroe was the first to awaken in the morning. A strict regime of Pilates before six thirty in the morning meant that no matter what time he went to bed his natural body clock rang the alarm for him to rise early and do his exercises.

Stretching, Monroe hit a warm solid object. In an instant he was alert, muscles coiling for a potential fight. Then his eyesight focused.

“What?”

Nick Burkhardt was sprawled over his couch. They must have fallen asleep while watching movies, neither stirring in the night to adjust their positions. Nick was lying in an awkward heap: one leg dangling off the side, head propped up on the armrest, while his right leg was bent on the sofa, with his foot, (thankfully absent of his shoe), was pressing against Monroe’s left thigh.

Monroe dimly recalled how Nick had decided to curl up on the couch as they chatted, pausing only to inquire if Monroe was alright with that. He remembered saying no problem as long as Nick removed his shoes. Meanwhile, Monroe had stayed in his upright posture, refusing to relinquish the whole of his extremely comfortable couch to Nick.

“Brilliant. Now you are ingraining your scent into my house – furniture – during the night as well? And Blutbaden are considered territorial?”

No response came from the slumbering Grimm. Sighing, Monroe stood, arching his back to release any stiffness. Casting one more look at Nick, Monroe elected to allow him to sleep and gently lifted Nick’s dangling limb onto the couch, all the time despairing at how mothering he had become.

“Forget Thanksgiving. Rather a permanent ban from all family occasions.”

Muttering under his breath about a stupidly trusting Grimm – falling asleep in the house of a Blutbad nonetheless! – Monroe prepared for a session of Pilates.

Quickly Monroe became absorbed in his routine and it wasn’t until Nick’s cell-phone rang that he thought of his impromptu house-guest again.

He had just finished his shower and dressed in clean clothes, and was pottering around just outside his house, tentatively sniffing the air. Monroe would never admit that after Nick’s strange behaviour last night he was now curious to double-check his territory.

His sharpened hearing meant he heard the ringing tone of Nick’s phone and backtracked into his house, re-entering the living room to discover a dazed Nick scrambling around on the floor for his cell. Monroe watched in a few seconds in amusement before walking forwards to help.

“Morning Nick!”

Nick shot a frantic look at him before continuing with his uncoordinated search.

“Sooo, not a morning person then.” Damn was this funny. He should have Nick sleep over more often.

“Come on Monroe! A little help would be appreciated. Where could I have possibly left my phone?”

Deciding to take mercy Monroe frowned and swept the now messy room. “It can’t be far. You’re uneven approach isn’t exactly helpful.” Monroe picked up a cast off undershirt. “Okay dude, how did you even remove this without my noticing. Sheesh.”

Nick declined to answer, instead trying to shift beer bottles and sweet wrappers – ahhh the chocolate Nick had smuggled over – in a desperate attempt to seek out his cell.

Electing a more obvious route, Monroe tracked down Nick’s jacket, rummaging through the leather pockets until…”Eureka! Nick, I found it.”

Loping back into his living room Monroe held out the cell-phone to a grateful Nick.

“Thanks Monroe.”

Nick didn’t even glance at the screen to check who was calling, he simply hit the receive button. “Detective Burkhardt.”

Monroe didn’t bother listening, if it was a call from the station Nick would most likely be shooting off. However, he wouldn’t be shooting off empty handed if Monroe had anything to do with it.

He was busy in the kitchen, brewing a wonderfully fragrant Guatemalan coffee, and spreading a bagel with goat’s cheese, when Nick wandered in. He was still in a disorganised state: shirt not fully done up, hair a bramble bush and feet only clad in socks.

“Morning Monroe.”

“Ah, civilised discourse has returned.”

Nick’s grey eyes clearly informed Monroe he considered that highly unfunny, but was willing to forgive him.

“That was Hank. A body has been discovered in Forest Park off one of the main trails. I need to head on up.”

Monroe reached for a paper bag. “You don’t suspect anything creature related?”

Nick shrugged. “Not at the moment, but I’ll keep my eyes peeled. What are you doing?”

“Breakfast. If you think you’re escaping without any think again.” Waving the now full paper bag, Monroe continued. “I’ve packed a bagel with goat’s cheese and chive, plus an orange for some healthy vitamins. Now, if I can pry out a spare thermos I’ll pour you some coffee too.”

Monroe could smell Nick’s surprise and pleasure. “Thanks Monroe, you didn’t have to do this.”

“Whatever. Just change and borrow a comb, seriously, you look like you took a dive through some undergrowth.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Obeying, Nick turned and headed for his bathroom.

“The police department so need to start paying me.”

Biting into his bagel Monroe set about unearthing a spare thermos.

~ * ~

It was nine by the time Nick reached the crime scene. He had eaten his bagel and orange in the car, though the orange had made a complete mess of his hands and fingers, not to mention his car seat, but still had his coffee.

Nick hauled himself out of his car bringing his thermos with him. He desperately required that coffee to wake up his remaining sluggish brain-cells, which were informing him of his craziness in drinking too much beer chased down with a boat-load of sugary treats.

_Maybe Monroe has a point about refined sugar,_ thought Nick as he walked over the trail to the crowd of police officers milling between the tall trees. He flashed his badge and was led through the sylvan gloom into a bright clearing lit by the morning sun.

He managed to catch sight of the forensic team before Hank’s voice arrested his attention.

“Hey buddy! Over here!”

Smiling, Nick bore left and joined Hank where he was standing by a man dressed in hiking gear.

“Morning Nick, had a rough night?” Hank gestured with amusement to his thermos.

Nick snorted. “Wouldn’t you like to know Hank? Hey, wipe that smirk off your face.”

His partner simply chuckled and then sobered. He turned to the man beside him. “Nick, meet Faxon Wald, Mr Wald, Detective Burkhardt.”

“Nice to meet you,” said the young man, holding out his hand.

“I wish it was under better circumstances Mr Wald.” Nick shook the proffered hand while surreptitiously examining Faxon Wald.

The young man in question wasn’t tall, perhaps an inch shorter than Nick. Mr Wald was dressed in a dark green shirt, a paler leafy green vest poking from underneath. On top of his shirt he wore a sleeveless padded vest, this one a khaki colour while his pants were a mottled beige and olive pattern. Okay, so green was obviously this guy’s favourite colour – all shades apparently.

Glancing up at his face Nick met wide eyes. For a blissful moment everything was wonderfully normal: Mr Wald had delicate features that made him decidedly pretty instead of handsome, with hazel eyes and longish brown hair falling into his face.

Then Faxon’s face transformed for one brief second and Nick’s morning was ruined. His face shifted, cheekbones becoming sharper, eyes larger, the irises now golden mixed with strands of brown. His lips reminded Nick of blood they were so deep a shade of red. His hair was much longer, a shifting sea of russet locks intermingled with an occasional flash of yellow. It recalled autumn days to Nick, when the forest became a blanket of beautiful reds, rich chocolate and bronze leaves.

If anything his true face was even more beautiful than his human visage and Nick found himself blinking at the sudden spell it put him under. Drawing on all his Grimm powers Nick fought off the befuddling sensations refusing to become ensnared in whatever enchantment Mr Wald was weaving.

_What are you?_

Breathing harshly Nick focused and Mr Wald’s human form reappeared. Instantly Nick could see that Mr Wald knew who he was: a Grimm.

His frightened eyes said as much.

Realising that he was still gripping Mr Wald’s hand and Hank was shooting him ‘are you okay?’ expression Nick dropped it and did his best to radiate friendliness. If Mr Wald was innocent then he had nothing to fear: Nick only hunted the bad ones.

He wished though he had drunk Monroe’s coffee.

“So Hank what have we got?”

“A dead hiker, he was part of Mr Wald’s group.”

Nick nodded. “What happened?”

It was Mr Wald who answered. “He wandered off after I expressly warned everyone not to!” Waving his arm behind him, the young man continued, “We began our hike very early, not long after the park opened: about five this morning. Around six I called a halt so we could rest. Navigating is hard work and everyone in my group are beginners at hiking.

“Anyway, Mr Jones was upset. We had just stopped as I mentioned for an hour to eat and refresh ourselves and I was informing my group that no-one should walk away from the trail into the forest – firstly since it is prohibited anyway. Secondly because once off the main trails you can become easily disoriented, especially if it is your first time.”

Nick studied the creature who gazed back at him, fear and wariness rolling off his frame. He was hunched, hands clenched at his sides. He was probably wishing he could bolt, run away from the resident Grimm.

_Damn._

“And then what Mr Wald?” Nick asked, aiming for professional – professional cop that is, not professional creature hunter.

“You may call me Faxon,” replied the creature.

“Faxon, what did Mr Jones do next?”

Faxon shifted on his feet, darting a look at Hank who was plainly puzzled by their witness’ reaction to Nick. Nick knew to expect some probing questions later. He wished fervently that he could avoid such a confrontation, it was growing harder to conceal his second job from those he cared for: Juliette and Hank – at least he had Monroe; otherwise Nick knew he would be insane if not dead by now.

“He moaned and complained for the rest of our break. He even kept up a monologue while we ate and then…” At this point Faxon’s voice turned angry, pitch shooting higher.

At the edge of his vision Nick saw Hank become alert at this and an encouraging note entered his voice as the dark-skinned detective said: “What Faxon? Did Mr Jones hit you or someone else in the group?”

“No!” was the indignant response. “He littered.”

Nick wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. “Pardon me, did you say littered?”

“Yes! Just tore open a bag of chips, scattering them all over the ground and then he proceeded to drop the packet onto the shrubbery by the trail.” By now Faxon’s face was a tomato-red colour. “I asked him to refrain but he ignored me, shouting about stupid rules and how constraining I – we – were all being. Next thing I knew Mr Jones stomped off a little way down the path all but snarling under his breath.”

Nick watched as Faxon rubbed a palm over his perspiring brow, transferring his hand to his hair to run his fingers through the brown mane.

“I decided to call a finish to our rest period and suggested everyone gather their belongings. In recompense we would have an extra hour to explore.” Faxon dragged in a lungful of air, which appeared to do little to steady his obviously cartwheeling nerves. He cast another wary glance at Nick, subtly edging closer to Hank.

Nick pretended not to see and closed off the part of him that ached at the injustice of the creature’s terror for him; for his ancestry.

Instead he prompted Faxon to continue: “And?”

“Nothing until maybe an hour later, roughly seven fifteen since I cut our stop off after a mere 20 minutes  – we had caught up with Mr Jones (after another hiker and I cleared his litter up), and proceeded with the guided hike. There was little talking, as the majority just seemed to want to drink in the sights and splendour of the magnificent red alder trees…” Catching their raised brows Faxon hastily got back on track.

“What I mean is that there was relevant silence for those ninety minutes. I didn’t hear anything untoward. However, as we reached a bend Mr Florence suddenly stumbled.

“Naturally we halted and checked to see if he hadn’t injured himself when Mr Haywater, the poor unfortunate who was supposed to be Mr Jones’ partner on the trail noticed that Mr Jones was missing.”

“He didn’t notice before this?” interrupted Hank. “Surely from your description he isn’t a man easy to miss?”

Faxon snorted. “After that debacle, unsurprisingly Mr Haywater had no desire to stay near Mr Jones.  Consequently, he elected to walk with Mr Talon who was up until then without a partner.”

“Hmmm, okay,” Hank scribbled in his notebook. “Continue.”

“I and my assistant Rose naturally were alarmed. We grew more so when we heard Mr Talon say that Mr Jones had continued muttering and fallen behind him and Mr Haywater. Then Mr Talon admitted he had tuned him out and couldn’t say when he last heard Mr Jones.”

“Where was your assistant? Shouldn’t Rose have been at the back, ensuring no-one strayed?” asked Nick frowning. Something didn’t feel right.

Faxon sighed, glancing over to the edge of the clearing where the trees began to huddle in closer together.

“Yes, Detective. However, she was lax and I am ashamed to say I didn’t note her absence, focused as I was on my section of the group. I immediately organised the group and within minutes we were retracing our steps. It took us I estimate twenty minutes of walking and keeping our eyes peeled until we came across Mr Jones’ pack.”

Faxon shrugged remorse on his face. “I admit detectives that I was blown by the discovery, both Rose and I at that point were desperately praying that he had only wandered off to answer nature’s call, as leaving your pack behind is begging for trouble. We requested that everyone remain on the trail while we searched the nearby area. Thankfully, we had enough volunteers that we could achieve this quickly.

“In the end though, we discovered Mr Jones not far off. We followed his footprints _and litter_ into the clearing. Next we tracked him perhaps 200 metres out. Well, once I ascertained he was dead I had no choice but to lead my team back to the trail and call Rose on our walkie-talkies. Then I filled Rose in and left her to call in our emergency and maintain calm. I returned to keep guard over the body and ensure nothing –animal or human – did any further harm to him. You know the rest”

Nick nodded. “Thank you Faxon. We’ll call again if we require further assistance. You may re-join your hiking companions.”

Faxon didn’t hesitate, he just mumbled thank you in a breathless and terribly relieved voice. He shook Hank’s hand, shot Nick a nervous wave then practically bolted over to a young woman whom Nick guessed was probably ‘Rose’.

He turned to Hank who was examining him. “Any idea while Faxon acted as if you were going to eat him?”

Nick tried for nonchalance. “No idea. Maybe I reminded him of somebody who bullied him in school?”

Hank didn’t seem convinced, his dark eyes scrutinising Nick doubtfully. “You’ve never met him before?”

“Are you implying that I not only know the guy but beat up him or something? Come on Hank that’s not fair.”

“Sorry man, it is just weird the way Faxon acted as if he expected you to pull your gun on him.”

Nick knew that he couldn’t really plausibly account for that without confessing the truth (which was insane enough for Hank to question his sanity) so he kept it simple. “I’m out of suggestions Hank. How about we stick to the case? We can solve Faxon’s behaviour later – if it’s possible.”

His partner shrugged, willing to let it slide for the present. “Alright. Well, when we arrived here we found Mr Jones face down among some trees as Faxon said roughly 200 metres from the clearing.”

Hank led Nick out of the clearing where forensics was attempting to pick up some clues as to the last actions of Mr Jones.

The two detectives made their path through the majestic trees, shoes sinking into the welcoming earth and stepping over twisting trees roots. Finally Nick glimpsed through the brown tree trunks the sight of police tape and his colleagues. He had been aware of their voices for longer, a murder scene wasn’t the quietest of places.

Hank halted and Nick realised they had reached Mr Jones. The man was burly, blond head uncovered. He lay face down at an awkward angle. His left arm was outstretched but the right was bent so that the right fingers were almost touching his temple. His body was slightly turned to the side, torso twisted to the side, his legs bent.

Then Nick blinked in amazement. “Where are his clothes? He’s only got a thin t-shirt and boxers on. Not even shoes or socks!”

Hank nodded grimly. “Yeah and that isn’t the strangest thing either Nick. The soles of his feet are covered in cuts and bruises as if he walked a long way, however, we can’t find his tracks, only this one leading from the clearing. His neck is broken but again there is no indication of him falling or anybody breaking his neck, it’s like he decided to lie down here and his neck just broke on its own.”

Nick wanted to ask if Hank was serious but he knew his partner wouldn’t lie. Nick stared around the scene: Mr Jones was the single still object amid the bustling police team. He gazed into the forest. The sylvan expanse looked right back, expressionless.

The rustling sounds of the forest brushed his ears. The hairs on Nick’s arms rose and he felt something ancient stir in him. An instinct that was all Grimm shrieked. Nick stared pensively into wooded park, something about his surroundings were tripping all his alarms.

Now that his instincts had awoken and were whispering that whatever had caused Mr Jones’ death was dangerous – and that nature wasn’t as innocent as it seemed – Nick knew that he would hitting his aunt’s books and contacting Monroe as soon as possible.

“Yes,” he said addressing Hank. “Something strange happened here.”

He slapped his partner’s arm. “Shall we return to the station? I think we’ve done what we can here. Let’s see what they’ve got back there.”

“Cool.”

Nick accompanied his partner back to the clearing and his car. All the while his back crawled and his nerves trembled. He felt as if Forest Park had come alive and were watching him with narrowed vision. He could also swear that Faxon stared at him with the same blank expression.

~ * ~

The second Nick reached his desk he poured himself a large mug of Monroe’s special brew and drank it almost in one go. He could hear phantom Monroe bewailing his savagery but boy did he need that coffee.

Relishing the wonderful taste of the hot brown liquid and how it soothed and refreshed him, Nick found he could partially throw off the dread instilled by the all too alive forest and Faxon’s transformation.

After polishing off the contents of the thermos the next two hours were jam-packed with activity. Both Hank and he had to write up the witness statements and any observations they had so far. Then Nick started searching the database for similar deaths or for disappearances within the last six months.

Meanwhile, Hank carried out background checks (ably assisted by Sergeant Wu) on Faxon, Rose and the people who had elected to go on this hiking tour on one of the many trails in Forest Park.

It was midday before Nick and Hank could stop and grab some lunch. They discussed the case, dwelling on the peculiar circumstances. The nameless alarm that Nick had managed to suppress to the background while working returned full-force and he shuddered, even though the office was warm and well-lit by the sun.

The mist from the night before was no-where to be seen yet Nick could have sworn the same emotions it elicited were present now, haunting him. He resolved to see Monroe as soon as he could escape.

Once safely ensconced at their desks, Nick pulled out his cell-phone and text Monroe asking whether he could come over for dinner.  He added that he would bring take-away (vegetarian naturally) so Monroe wouldn’t have to cook.

It wasn’t until near four o’clock that an anxious Nick received a response saying sure and asking if everything was okay.

_Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have sent four texts in quick succession_ , mused Nick guiltily.

**_Yes,_** Nick replied. ** _My case is just weird. I’ll be there at six._**

**_See you,_** was Monroe’s reply. ** _Don’t worry I’ll protect you._**

Nick caught himself ere he could laugh out-loud. Monroe knew how to kick him out of his brooding.

Excusing himself Nick pretended to need the toilet. However, instead he took a left and leaning against the wall called Juliette. He had to tell her he wouldn’t be returning until late and not to wait up for him, because if things went as Nick thought they would, after his conversation with Monroe he would be visiting his aunt’s trailer. Though it was his trailer now…

Anyway, he couldn’t allow Hank to overhear as he would question why Nick wouldn’t be home since Nick wouldn’t actually be in the police station. Yeah, not an exchange Nick wanted right now after that scene with Faxon.

“Hello Nick.”

The dark-haired detective smiled and dived into his ready-made excuse, feeling a little guilty for the necessary deception.

~ * ~

Nick sighed. He was glad to finally leave the station. He was hungry and his nerves were jangling.

Slipping into his car Nick drove to a Chinese Takeaway he knew well and ordered anything that didn’t contain meat and actually smelled promising. Loaded and thoughts already bending towards Monroe, Nick stepped on the gas.

Within half an hour he was driving up to Monroe’s house and parking on the curb. Nick climbed out of the car, managing to snag the two bags holding the enticing scents of Chinese food. As he walked to the door Nick marvelled how the sight of the small house filled him with comfort and security.

It was amazing really: a Grimm finding sanctuary, reprieve, in the abode of a Blutbad. Nick grinned. Amazing but about time.

Nick didn’t want to be like his ancestors. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to be too much like his Aunt Marie. Nick understood he had to kill the bad ones, but if he had listened to the voices of all the Grimms that had preceded him he would never have given Monroe a chance after the first time.

So, while the death of his aunt grieved Nick still after all these months, he was grateful that because of the lack of support and knowledge in the world he had been thrust into, he could forge a new path, a new beginning. Creating a rapport with Monroe had been the start and Nick believed he was a better Grimm – and a better cop – for fighting alongside a Blutbad.

Monroe was the best friend a man – anybody – could ask for, and Nick had every intention of them creating a new history. Well, they had already begun, so essentially continuing to build a new Grimm heritage for other Grimms to emulate. Now he had to convince Monroe to add to the books Nick would write.

If he had children then at least they would know the truth and the good ones like Monroe wouldn’t have to fear too much – only enough to warn them of not surrendering to the bad.

Monroe was safe, though Nick knew he couldn’t hunt Monroe down even if he went wild and yeah, that scared him, turned his stomach sour, and made him a bad cop, a terrible Grimm. However, Nick couldn’t make himself think of a situation where he would lose Monroe like that, because life surely couldn’t be so cruel?

Monroe was the only one who knew of Nick being a Grimm and probably the only one who could comprehend the struggle between tradition and changing as the old ways aren’t always right. He was Nick’s friend and Nick wanted to believe that any children of theirs would play together: a new generation. So, Nick visited Monroe, weaselled his way into the life of this solitary Blutbad, enshrining himself fully so he couldn’t be removed without being taken out permanently.

He let Monroe know he would be there for him so there wouldn’t be a case of ‘one day’. In return Monroe supported Nick and offered the same sentiment. They never discussed how vital each was to the other. Monroe had Juliette’s number, image and scent so if the occasion arose he would protect her if Nick couldn’t. That said it all really.

Nick would do the same when Monroe met that special someone, whether they be Blutbad, human or other creature, heck even a pet!

Buoyed by arriving at Monroe’s, Nick mounted the steps and watched the stained glass wolf swing away. Monroe, dressed in a blue-green checked flannel shirt and beige trousers, grinned at him.

“Seriously Nick, you need to stop hauling in all the food in one go.”

“Because it might hurt my delicate hands?”

Monroe said, “No, because you may be on my territory, but that doesn’t automatically mean you’re safe.”

Nick smirked. Translation: you should keep a hand free to grab your weapon you idiot. Considering how easily Angelina had smashed through his car window Monroe had a point.

“Okay, I’ll wait for Prince Charming next time. Do you have his number?”

Monroe narrowed his eyes. “Yeah and he’s debating whether he wants a stray Grimm in his castle.”

“Hmmm…well the stray Grimm comes bearing mixed fried rice and Chinese mushrooms.”

“Then strays are welcome.”

“You mean one stray Nick Burkhardt, Grimm, not ‘strays’,” Nick corrected.

“Right I forgot, you’re possessive. Are all Grimms like this?”

“No idea and possibly best not to find out,” replied Nick cheerfully as he darted inside, Monroe following with one of the bags of Chinese and shutting the door securely.

“True. This Blutbad doesn’t need another Grimm, one is enough.”

Monroe sniffed. “Oooo…nice. Grab the plates Nick and I’ll get the cutlery. You can fill me in while eat.”

Nick did just that. Sitting opposite each other at the dining table Nick regaled Monroe with everything that happened to him since leaving Monroe’s house that morning.

Eventually, with only a small amount of rice and noodles left on their plates Monroe leant back, sipping the wine he had opened. He had an unfocused look as if trying to recall a memory or fact.

Absentmindedly the Blutbad rubbed his chin, his fingers making a rasping noise against his beard.

“If I’m correct Nick, and I doubt I’m not, then we’re in major trouble.”

“That sounds appropriately ominous.”

Brown eyes caught and held his grey ones and Nick swallowed at the gravity he saw there. None of Monroe’s usual cheerfulness was present. Rather Nick discerned the tell-tale flashes of red that signalled Monroe was reacting to a serious threat. Brilliant, just what Nick needed.

“What Monroe? What am I – we-” amended Nick at his friend’s growl, “-facing?”

“From the sensations you described in the forest and the transformation of your prime witness, I would say we are dealing with elves.”

For a moment Nick didn’t react. Monroe’s announcement was hard to grasp, practically anti-climactic to what he had expected. However, experience kicked in and Nick said cautiously, “Elves?”

Monroe just raised his eyebrows, seemingly unsurprised by his friend’s reaction. “Yes.”

“I’m assuming that you’re not referring to the elves the average person is familiar with?”

“Yes,” and damn if that wasn’t pride in Nick in Monroe’s voice. Nick grinned.

“So?”

Monroe waved the hand not holding his wine glass. Nick sipped his beer.

“Elves. Popular legend has done much to distort them. However, to be perfectly honest elfin or elven folklore, depending on which you prefer, isn’t straightforward in of itself. Throughout the ages the term ‘elves’ has been used interchangeably with ‘dwarves’ and depending on which source, so has their height and attributes.

“The elves you are most likely familiar with are the ones from Nordic tradition – or Tolkien’s elves if you wish. The Norse believed the elves were similar in stature to humans but more beautiful: stronger and divine. They were right to a certain extent.

“Humans forget mythology isn’t clearly-cut. The Grimm brothers knew that, so did your fellow Grimms. Other folklore depicted elves as small creatures that either helped humans or exchanged human babies with changelings. So elves were possibly mischievous and spiteful or helpful.”

“So, what are elves?” Nick asked, attempting to unearth a common thread.

Monroe raised an eyebrow. “As I’ve said they’re a bit of both. Elves can be tall and beautiful or small and stunning. They can dangerous or wonderfully helpful to those who are good or are good to them. They can be ugly and vindictive or simply wish to have fun which unfortunately for humans can be damaging. There’s a reason why you should be wary of accepting an invitation from the elves to visit their homes: for you a handful of days may pass but upon your return you discover years have flown by. You really don’t want to meet a bad elf nor necessarily a good one unless you’re damn careful.”

Nick groaned. “Brilliant. So what type of elf is Faxon?”

Monroe looked unsure. “He doesn’t quite fit any category; however, I would lean towards the taller more ‘divine’ race of elves. He may be a young elf, as it is unlikely a fully matured one would be so intimidated by a Grimm.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it does.”

“Well what do you think?”

“That my family haven’t had a lot of success with elves in general.”

Monroe however smiled in reassurance, leaning forward to briefly touch Nick’s hand. “No just that most elves have a confidence that’s hard to match. I’m sure your Aunt Marie – and you owe me for saying her name – would have taken on and won against some elves.”

Nick chuckled, quickly brushing Monroe’s arm in return. “Thanks Monroe. So, hypothesis?”

Monroe frowned. “My best guess from your description of Mr Jones’ behaviour would be that either Faxon, or his brethren, were angered by his lack of respect for nature and for Faxon‘s authority. You don’t want to cause any harm to nature when an elf is present, particularly after one has warned you. Elves are connected to the forest, the water-ways to life.

“They can call upon the strength and spirit of the forest to aid them. Their enchantments are powerful and can easily lead an unsuspecting human astray.”

“So,” postulated Nick, “Mr Jones may have been taken to their world and chased until he died? But how about his neck?”

“Whatever hallucination he was under it led to his death and as for his neck I can’t answer that. Our trouble is how to deal with it. If a bunch of elves consider that clearing or that trail their territory we have serious problems.”

Nick nodded in agreement. “How do we stop them? Will reasoning work?”

“Unlikely if they have been riled up enough to kill, though worth a try if you can’t find anything in your books. All I can suggest is that elves have interbred with humans and while these humans were stronger, faster and more gifted than normal humans they could still die from mortal weapons. Therefore, your gun or a sword should work.”

“But it will be more difficult and potentially suicidal?”

Monroe was clearly reluctant to agree. “Maybe, but elves love music so I can always play and distract them.”

Nick was incredulous. “Are you an idiot Monroe? I’ve been a bad influence. That’s far too dangerous.”

“Huh huh, no more than you rushing in by yourself. Find something in your books otherwise that might be all we have.”

Nick rubbed his eyes. “Fantastic. We also need to know where to look: is it really just the clearing or further afield or does Mr Jones’ body mark the barrier to their world?”

His friend was contemplative. “I could probably sniff it out. Your senses picked up warning signs; mine have a chance of scenting the barriers. You’d be safer anyway; I’m likely to notice the beginnings of any magic.”

Nick couldn’t argue that. “Okay, I’ll hit the books and update you in the morning. I should be able to sneak out to the forest tomorrow by 11am as long as I clear it with the Captain.”

“So soon?”

“I have the horrible feeling if we wait any longer we’ll have more bodies.”

“Have to agree with you there.”

“Will you be able to meet me there?”

“Yes, wait… let me grab a pen and you can write down instructions. I’ll loop around to you. If we arrive separately we’ll be inconspicuous.”

Nick wrote swiftly. “I’ll tell you if you have to bring anything.”

“Sweet, just remember to bring supplies. You really don’t want to be trapped overnight in the forest without them, in case we are dazzled by the elves. They can be dangerous like that.”

Nick jumped up. “I won’t forget.” Monroe followed him to the door where Nick yanked on his jacket. Smiling up at Monroe, Nick said, “Be safe Monroe. See you tomorrow.”

“You too Nick.”

Nick was conscious of Monroe’s penetrating assessment all the way to his car. He prayed that Monroe had overestimated the elves even as his instincts informed him that his Blutbad pal was right.

~ * ~

Nick spent the next few hours ensconced in the trailer he had inherited from his aunt. At first he hadn’t known where to look. Over the past six months Nick had slowly familiarised himself with the contents of his aunt’s – of _his_ – trailer, but there was so much to learn that it was impossible to even know a fraction of what was contained within these seemingly fragile walls in a year or two years.

Nick Burkhardt knew that it would take him probably a decade to truly learn what his ancestors’ books held and how to utilise all the weaponry and assorted vials full of interesting, if slightly disturbing, potions.

However, he couldn’t allow that fact to damper his spirits and with a will Nick delved into the records attempting to pry out information on the elves.

It took him three hours before he uncovered a particularly frayed and yellowed text with the simple word **_Elfe_**.

Taking that as a sign Nick gently hauled the journal off the shelf and started flipping through the pages. The writing was German, though throughout there were snippets in English and nearer the back…

“Whoa…” Nick breathed in awe. “You did meet elves.”

Right there in front of him was handwriting he recognised. Aunt Marie had added her own notes to their family’s tales. Nick read eagerly, devouring his aunt’s account. And what a story his Aunt Marie had to tell.

Nick turned the pages, feeling his amazement grow, occasional flashes of disbelief quickly doused as experience and his aunt’s words whispered in his ears.

At one point Nick rose to walk to the weapons cabinet. Opening the door he peered inside. Not seeing what he wanted Nick leant in further, hands searching, running over the various knives, swords, daggers, a javelin, guns and other myriad killing devices.

Then Nick’s probing fingers hit something at the bottom of the cupboard that caused a tingle to run up his arms. Breathing shallowly, Nick balanced carefully on his haunches and released the leather bindings and metal catches that secured it to the cupboard floor.

Cautiously Nick pulled the weapon out marvelling at the fine black casing. Pulling it out of the casing Nick held it almost reverently. It was splendid. In his mind’s eye Nick could see, taste, and feel the place where this weapon had been forged from fire.

It was beautiful yet dreadful. This was meant to kill, to maim: to destroy. The entire purpose of this weapon had been to protect his aunt. Now Nick prayed it would protect Monroe and him.

In his excitement Nick called Monroe, not realising the hour.

“Whaaa? Who is this?”

“Monroe, it’s me.”

“Nick?” His friend still sounded sleepy but more alert. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Ummmm….”

“It’s three in the morning. Unless you’re about to be eaten I’m gonna to be annoyed okay?”

Nick ignored Monroe’s complaint. “Sorry Monroe, I just got caught up and it is important. I found a weapon that might just sway matters into our favour.”

There was a brief pause before Monroe responded, voice even. “Brilliant. And you couldn’t wait until we saw each other oooo..later this morning at eleven? I swear I’m going to buy you a clock for your trailer.”

“Still upset about ringing so early? Did you hear what I just said? We have the answer to our case!”

“Make that _build_ you a clock; at least I’ll know it definitely work.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Monroe.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you. I’m thrilled, honestly, however I would like to sleep before we go hunting elf – and so should you.”

A bit deflated and maybe just a smidgeon embarrassed he had called Monroe before it could even be termed the crack of dawn, Nick agreed. “Sure. See you shortly.”

“I will. Goodnight Nick.”

“Goodnight Monroe.”

Pocketing his cell Nick carried his find back to the table and placed it next to the journal. Gazing down at Marie’s entry he traced the pattern her pen had made: the curves and straight lines each a reminder of the woman he had considered his mother.

Forcing back the tears prickling his eyes Nick promised Marie he would add his own entry to match hers after this case was over.

As he switched off the lights and locked the trailer securely Nick resolved to ask Monroe to supply his own view on their current mission.

~ * ~

Central was already heaving when Nick arrived after only four hours sleep. He had locked up and been back at the house by three thirty that morning, however, by the time he crept in and used every skill he possessed to prepare the necessary equipment for his and Monroe’s excursion it was nearing four o’clock.

Consequently, when he awoke at eight Nick was groggy and wincing at the far too bright sunlight that was stabbing cruelly into his vision. Squinting against the glare he had stumbled out of bed and into a hasty splashing of water on face. He was late and Juliette was long gone.

Just remembering to run a comb through his hair so he at least appeared groomed Nick had hurtled out of his house and driven as close to the limit as he could to reach work.

Hank grinned as he dropped into his seat gulping a cup of coffee he had snatched on the way in. “Late night with the lady?”

Nick snorted. “Yeah, as if I’d tell you Hank.”

His friend shrugged. “No stamina that’s the problem. You should follow my example Nick.”

“Huh huh. Some of us have better role models.”

“Ooo…straight to the bone Nick. Maybe the late night was a good one?”

“Okay Hank, I think you’re now officially weirdly invested in my private life.”

“What private life? You said yourself you have no time for social pleasures.”

Nick laughed at Hank’s teasing, before he could reply however, Captain Renard appeared by their desk. “Gentlemen, gather what you have. There is a conference on the case in my office in a couple of hours. If you need to re-interview any witnesses do so now.”

“Yes Sir,” was the dual replies. Nick inwardly frowned. Two hours? That meant the meeting was a ten, and he was meant to meet Monroe at eleven. Not much leeway.

“Nick?”

The dark-haired detective blinked and found his partner staring at him. “You okay? You drifted for a moment there.”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Right, let’s go then. I want to talk to Mr Talon again since he was the last to hear Mr Jones. Grab your jacket.”

Nick had been about to call Monroe to warn him he might be late, but with Hank looking at him he had no choice but to follow.

The rest of the morning was the same; every chance that arose for Nick to spend a minute to phone Monroe was obstructed by Hank or someone in the office requiring his attention. Then, all of a sudden the conference was happening.

The hour to eleven crawled. The clock on Renard’s desk was cruelly slicing the seconds and minutes away and watching it was pure agony. Damnit, he had his own clockmaker to go and see! Yet not even the clocks of his trade were being helpful.

When eleven ticked into place and the meeting showed no signs of relenting Nick was desperate. He would have excused himself for a moment if the Captain hadn’t pinned him with his dark gaze.

Even Hank was glancing at him strangely, his expression clearly asking what was wrong with Nick. By the time midday clicked into being Nick was frantic. His Grimm senses were screaming at him and his aunt’s warning that he ought to trust his instincts were driving him over the edge.

Thankfully, Renard spoke the magic word right then otherwise Nick was seriously entertaining the thought of how to convince everyone he was suffering an attack of some kind.

“Dismissed.”

Correctly interpreting the notion that the Captain would wish to speak to him about his slightly crazed behaviour Nick was the first to get out of the room and race off. Hank was on his heels.

“Whoa Nick! Where’s the fire? Nick?”

“Got…got an important appointment,” panted Nick. Then, knowing Hank could outrun him, put on a spurt of speed and succeeded in losing a startled Hank around a corner.

Racing into the mocking sunlight Nick jumped into his car and drove a couple of streets before pulling over – he wanted to ensure no-one followed him.

Fumbling with his cell-phone Nick dialled Monroe’s number, throat dry when he saw the missed calls from his Blutbad friend.

It rang and rang.

Forcing himself to be calm, Nick tried again. Same thing: just a constant ringing. Nick attempted a third time and was simply cut off, the line going dead with a sound that cut open Nick’s heart: it reminded Nick the noise a heart monitoring machine might make if a person flat-lined.

Dread curdled in his stomach.

“Where are you Monroe?” he whispered in the silence of his car.

For a split second Nick stared blankly ahead, then purpose flowed into his veins, replacing the winter of fear with the passion of action. He had to find out. He had to get to Forest Park _now_.

Nick drove as if he had a Jägerbär pursuing his car.

~ * ~

 

 

 

_Earlier_

Monroe stopped his yellow bug in the visitors’ car park and picked up his backpack. He was dressed like a tourist who might be intending to hike all day. Good sturdy hiking boots, long comfortable trousers, one of his more ‘I don’t mind if it gets dirty’ shirts and in case it grew cold a warm sweater.

Settling his pack over his shoulders Monroe did a final mental check of its contents. As he had recommended to Nick last night, he had carefully packed his rucksack with items Monroe rather hoped he wouldn’t need, but were present in case the worse happened – and with their track record something was _bound_ to happen.

Glancing up at the beautifully clear sky, which Monroe felt was all too pretty for the type of hunt Nick and he were undertaking, Monroe allowed himself a moment to drink in the warmth of the morning sun.

Voices interrupted his reflection. Sighing Monroe realised he had better start. He was quite some distance from the crime scene and where he was meant to meet Nick.

Locking his faithful car Monroe casually strolled off, portraying an innocent image of an earnest hiker intent on seeing Mother Nature.

He passed by a couple with their child, all clad in gaudily bright colours. The little boy was chattering excitedly asking his father whether they would see a Pileated Woodpecker.

“If you’re quiet son,” answered the amused dad.

Monroe smiled. It always amazed him at how quickly children absorbed information, learning facts that adults spent hours, days even years obsessively reciting. Yup, get them while they were young was Monroe’s philosophy, that way the children drank knowledge like it was squash. Maybe then, the young would appreciate proper music, (classical naturally) and the craftsmanship of the traditional arts (clock making included).

Pity Nick wasn’t here already, Monroe could distinctly see the dark-haired detective shaking his head and laughing at Monroe’s line of reasoning.

Engaging meanderings like these distracted Monroe from the fact that he was soon to be clashing with a set of probably peeved off elves.

Within minutes Monroe was winding his way through the stunning forest, tall trees and plants receding away from him on either side of the trail.

His sensitive ears caught the sounds of animals rustling in the undergrowth, among the twigs on the ground and in the dirt. High above, Monroe detected the flapping of wings as birds went about their business.

However, nothing approached, not even the animals that either barely noticed humans or were braver than the rest. The fauna of Forest Park recognised a predator and steered clear. It was slightly disappointing for a reformed Blutbad to encounter, but Monroe was used to it and did his best to stretch his other senses to experience the flavour of life within this green sprawling land.

 The scents were a kaleidoscope of rich earth, fresh leaves and the various odours of the animal-life: musky and masculine or light and sweet.

He did pass by a handful of hikers as he walked, most memorably a little girl with her grandmother and unfortunately both were wearing red. The little girl’s swaying scarlet pack and her grandmother’s red top captured him. Monroe was captivated for a split second, mouth-watering and eyes staring. Yet it passed swiftly and he shook his head, face morphing back to human form.

Electing not to take a chance, Monroe smiled at them and all but sprinted further up the track until he lost them not simply from sight but from taste as well. He purposefully didn’t inhale to catch their scent.

In this manner thirty minutes flew by and it wasn’t until Monroe had left behind the normal hikers that he was able to safely break from the trail and not be surprised by someone coming around a corner and catching a flash of him as he vanished into the forest.

Dodging past tree trunks and leaping over fallen branches and trunks Monroe darted through the forest.

He breathed deep, his inner wolf elated to be finally running, running as nature intended! A slight gust of air caused by his passage cooled his cheeks, caressing his beard.

Monroe grinned. This wasn’t hard, true he was no match to Holly who could probably still slip through these woods like a phantom, but he was still Blutbad and that counted for something.

It meant that obstacles didn’t really slow him down: plant tendrils didn’t snag his ankles, his sharp vision warned him of what was ahead and his nose combined with his sense of taste informed him of exactly who was around him.

Green and brown flashed by and at one point a smear of a bright red crest atop of a black and white streaked head, black beak and body. Monroe laughed: a Pileated Woodpecker! Oh, he hoped the little boy was as fortunate.

Up ahead murmured words filtered to Monroe and the Blutbad eased his speed to an easy stride.

Monroe cocked his head and listened. The voices had to signal cops: not many, maybe just a handful to guard the crime scene from inquisitive or lost park visitors.

He was yet too far for the cops to detect him, however Monroe now slowed to a careful walk, scenting and listening as he padded forwards.

Eventually, Monroe paused. He was close enough. Dropping to the ground Monroe sat on a nice patch of dry ground and waited.

It was peaceful, only the sounds of the cops near-by to occasionally disturb the scenery. Monroe allowed himself to relax, but not fully. He didn’t wish to be surprised by the fair folk.

It was the cry of a bird that eventually shattered his contemplation. Standing Monroe realised that he had been for a while. It had been ten to eleven when he had arrived, taking him only an hour to reach the designated meet-up spot.

It was surely gone eleven now?

Peering at his wrist-watch Monroe blinked.

“11:30? Dude where are you now?” Monroe peered at his surroundings, sniffing the air in an attempt to smell Nick’s scent. Nothing.

“Okay, man, this is not on. You better not be asleep in your aunt’s trailer!”

Monroe frowned, wondering what to do. Maybe calling Nick would be best? Deciding that would be best Monroe took his cell from his pocket and found Nick’s number.

Instead of Nick picking up his call though, the ring-tone went on and on, the persistent tone irritating his ear-drums.

“Damn,” muttered Monroe and hesitated. It was unlikely that Nick was purposefully late…

“Nick, I swear, if your Grimm ass is late for anything less than life and death – I’m seriously _plastering_ your house with clocks and your arms with watches.”

Grumbling about the frustrating Grimm that was Nick Burkhardt, Monroe tried calling Nick two more times. Monroe tried not considering the option that Nick might have already become a victim of the elves.

However, when all his tries were unsuccessful Monroe was wholly anxious and beginning to enter alarm mode.

Monroe once again assessed the forest. Had an eerie hush fallen? It had been quiet yes, but Monroe had still been able to overhear the bustle of life in the distance and espy the colourful denizens of the forest.

Monroe warily scented the area. There was something…off about everything.

The Blutbad turned in a circle cautious now to ensure his backpack was still on and that his boots were tied, ready to run if required to do so.

The trees gazed back at him. Monroe could see the expressionless faces of the wood glaring into his soul. Swallowing Monroe stepped back. His breathing brought a tangy flavour to his lips and tongue. Not a scent he had previously sampled before in Forest Park.

Forcing himself not to panic the Blutbad slowly turned and began to walk towards the trail. Rather the cops than this.

Yet, after only two paces Monroe felt the subtle shift. It was if the world was suddenly hot and tight against him, squeezing around his body in an enormous hug. Then as fast as it had arrived it was gone and the world was warm yet cool.

Monroe bent over and breathed deep, gasping. Straightening the Blutbad looked around and then to the sky.

The angle of the sun’s rays suggested it was afternoon and Monroe knew it was only eleven forty-five in the morning. That fact though wasn’t what convinced Monroe he was no longer in Forest Park per say.

The trees that reared around him were taller, more ancient and more mind-numbingly beautiful than when he last looked. The perfumes of various flowers assailed his nose and the scents weren’t of any flower he recognised or knew of.

Furthermore, the air was different: lighter and it might seem ludicrous, but also more cheerful as if the sun glowed more brightly and the life in the forest lived their lives more joyfully.

Monroe shivered even though it was far from cold.

Gazing at the thriving forest that now heaved with the chatter of birds and the calls of what Monroe knew were foxes and coyotes.

“Crap.”

Monroe curled his hands into fists.

He was in the world of the elves…and their presence was all around him.

~ * ~

_Forest Park_

Nick abandoned his car in the same place as he had yesterday morning.

Flashing his badge Nick causally strolled past a group of police-officers and walked calmly down the trail. He had been forced to leave his weapon in the car as it was too obvious and Nick was in a hurry, too much of one to think properly. He knew that both Monroe and his aunt would be yelling at him for his stupidity.

However, he wasn’t entirely defenceless: he had his gun and tucked into the inside of his jacket a couple of his aunt’s daggers. They would have to do for now. When he ascertained Monroe’s status then Nick would either return fully armed and angry like a Blutbad defending its territory, or relatively sanely with Monroe to inform the elves of their options.

Nick soon lost sight of his fellow cops and was enveloped in the forest. This trail had been closed to the public so the for moment there was only Nick and authorised personal moving along this sylvan pathway.

And at this precise hour in time Nick was fully intent on finding his missing friend.

He could feel the eyes of the forest pressing in on him. Nick could only respond in anger and defiance. Stalking along the trail and darting every now and then into the trees fencing the path Nick was relentless in his search. More than once he called out for Monroe, his voice suffocated by the watching forest, every leaf, and flower and plant frond laughing at his futile pursuit.

Nick already felt as if he had been sucked into the world of the elves as ten years seemed to pass for every minute he couldn’t track down Monroe.

Nick persisted, crying aloud, calling on his phone and scrabbling with his fingers.

Eventually, exhaustion overcame Nick and the dark haired detective sank to the ground. Nick was weary. He hadn’t eaten since his meagre mouthful of toast at eight in the morning, nor drank since his coffee: not the most hydrating of beverages.

Peeking at his watch Nick’s mouth fell open. “15:00? Damn, everyone at the station will wonder where I am.”

Glancing up into the trees Nick snarled, his fear now terror for the fate of his friend. “Where is he? Where is Monroe? Monroe!” Nick shouted one last effort, voice crackling from how parched he was.

Admitting defeat for this round Nick staggered to his feet, mind furiously ticking away to discover a solution. It wasn’t until he reached his car that an idea presented itself.

A dark curl of satisfaction unwound in Nick’s belly. Smirking Nick reversed and headed back to Central.

He would find Monroe and he knew how.

~ * ~

The Blutbad in question was currently debating the best course of action to undertake.

Monroe knew the best course of action would be to remain where he was, as he at the point of entry into the elfin world. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option for long. The powerful sensation of the fair folk increased in potency as they drew nearer to him.

He had attempted to catch sight of them, but they remained elusive and Monroe understood he would be lucky – or make that unlucky – if they did show themselves.

Pressed by their actions the Blutbad reluctantly started walking. Instinctively Monroe kept as close to the barriers of this world as possible. He fought the urge to display his fear. The minute he did the elves would win a little ground until gradually they won the battle and he was either mad or dead.

Monroe had no illusions that the elves guessed he was with Nick, the Grimm. No matter how hard Monroe washed his clothes he would never wash clean Nick’s scent. The pesky Grimm was too ingrained, too entrenched in his life to fade into nothingness like that – and Monroe wouldn’t have it any other way.

It meant though that he was their enemy by extension.

Stepping over a gnarled root which was as thick as Monroe was wide, Monroe quickened his pace. He hadn't much time. He had either to reach one of the barriers of the elfin world and pray he could pass without hindrance or that Nick reached him soon.

“Some Blutbad I turned out to be. Sniff out the barriers huh? Nick is going to love that.”

Monroe refused to entertain the notion that Nick might be dead or caught by the elves. He had to, or he might lose his reformed status and be the wild Blutbad he once had been – and it wouldn’t be pretty.

~ * ~

Nick had arrived at Central to face a stern looking crowd consisting of Captain Renard, Hank and Wu. His thought that he was in trouble was very much correct.

Captain Renard ordered him into his office and the other two had followed.

“What is wrong with you Detective?” snapped Renard. He was clearly furious, biting off each word and eyes dark.

“I had to check on a friend.”

“And checking on this friend was more important than your job?” Renard was incredulous. “They better have been seriously ill Detective.”

Nick was uncomfortably aware of his partner staring at him while Wu just wrote on his notepad. “I remembered my friend said he could be hiking in Forest Park. I was worried he might encounter whoever might have killed Mr Jones.”

“Calling would have been sufficient.”

“Yes sir, I tried, but there was no answer. So I went to his house and found no-one…”

“This took over three hours Nick. Do you wish me to seriously believe you spent three hours checking your friend's house – and by the way, does your mysterious friend have a name?”

“His name is Monroe and when I couldn’t trace him I went to Forest Park and searched there.” Nick realised that was the wrong answer, but he couldn’t think of a plausible excuse. It was all he could do to focus on his Captain as his mind was whirling with what actions he had to take to rescue Monroe.

Captain Renard was gazing at him in disbelief. Apparently, he had done something so idiotic that it had stunned his captain into temporary silence. Meanwhile, his partner wasn’t so inhibited.

“Monroe? The clock-maker? You’re friends with that guy? Really Nick? You accused him of kidnapping!”

“Yes!” said Nick defensively. “But we’re good friends now. Just kept bumping into each other and well…somehow we became the best of companions.” The dark-haired cop shrugged. It wasn’t the whole story; however, the sentiment was the truth.

Hank simply shook his head.

“Still Nick, even as your friend you shouldn’t have returned to a crime scene and searched for Monroe.” Wu’s quiet reminder made Nick wince.

“Sergeant Wu is correct,” said Renard, glaring coldly at Nick. “It was stupid and could have cost you your life.” Sighing in frustration the tall man leant back in his seat. “However, the damage is done. You are sure your friend is missing?”

Nick nodded furiously.

The Captain slid a sheet of paper across to Nick. “Then fill in his details and we’ll run a search party first thing in the morning,” cutting off Nick’s protest with a raised hand, Captain Renard remarked, “It’s too late for one now. Plus, Nick it hasn’t been twenty-four hours. I’m already giving you the benefit of the doubt, especially considering your actions. Fill in the report and we’ll see what the morning brings.”

“Yes sir.”

Nick took the form and returned to his desk, ignoring his partner’s attempts to talk to him. Nick was bitter and even more determined to action his plan.

~ * ~

Monroe didn’t know whether time was ticking by at the same rate back in the human world or not. If he had to guess Monroe would hazard the difference wasn’t great. The only reason for this was that Monroe didn’t feel displaced.

Yes, everything else was wildly strange or peculiar: purple flowers that bloomed with the most sugary perfume he had ever known; leaves a verdant green not seen before; a leaping frog by a bubbling brook a rainbow of colours, horses small or large: all more vibrant and full of vigour than Monroe imagined possible in his own reality.

The heavens were a startling blue with a yellow sun flaming amid angel-wing white clouds.

It was a riot and Monroe was having a hard time not being overwhelmed by the sensory input. His inner wolf was eager to play. Monroe refused: he wouldn’t abandon his Wieder stance unless he had to protect (or avenge) Nick.

Yet the one thing he didn’t feel was time displacement. So perhaps he was lucky and he wouldn’t return seven years or a hundred in the future.

So, for the last five hours Monroe had dodged the elves that had pursued his every step. Sometimes he could hear them, their voices mere whispers on a refreshing breeze, or light footfalls on the moist earth. Occasionally he could taste them, his mouth tingling from their unique scents.

Once he had espied one of their number: probably a young and foolish elf, who had wandered too near. A quick snap of his transformed jaws and the little creature was scurrying in indignation back to his fellows. Such threats were all that Monroe dared to do. Unless he was openly provoked into a fight he had the sense to not attack first. Let the elves be the first to engage in battle, Monroe would attempt to give them nothing more to be angry about.

Monroe leapt over a bush, sprinkled with wild berries. The sweet aroma was almost enough to make him stop to sup on their tender flesh, but his company deterred him. To his left he felt the comforting pressure of one of the barriers to this world.

The itchy, hot sensation was a welcoming sign as Monroe had more than once been driven from the fences of the elfin place. However, Monroe had been able to derive from his travels that he could not only feel the caress of the barriers but to his transformed eyes he could see the shimmer that heralded their presence.

So, half-transformed – as Nick saw him and others from time to time – Monroe raced through an open field.

The crack of someone stumbling through the bush behind him made Monroe grin. The elves were growing annoyed. He was not granting them the same fun as a human. Their hallucinations were harder to work on the Blutbad.

However, eventually he would need rest and then they would have the advantage.

Putting on a burst of speed Monroe twisted to his right, luring the elves away from the closet barrier. A confusing manoeuvre, yet one that might work to his benefit: it brought Monroe back into the sprawling woods.

Monroe purposefully forced his bulk past the closely knit trees and eventually reached the site he remembered running through much earlier that day.

In the rapidly progressing gloom the small space between a cluster of trees was bathed blue-grey. Monroe thanked his much enhanced vision. Further back he heard the sound of elves also struggling through sylvan murk – and they were doubly slowed by their desire not to harm the life around them.

Hastily he dropped and after a moment of scrabbling in the dirt he managed to dig up some slender plant roots. Hastily testing them he discovered they were flexible. Knowing he didn’t have enough time to draw his knife Monroe used his jaws and bit through the roots. Then, using as a guide Nick’s description of how tall Faxon was, he strung two lines of the roots between the trees, securing them with knots to the low-lying branches.

When the elves followed him into here they would be in such a rush that at least a handful would slam neck height into the roots. It would anger them, however, Monroe was desperate. He badly required rest and sustenance.

Waiting until he could smell his pursuers once more Monroe only dashed off when they were only steps away from entering the small break in the trees.

As he loped off in the opposite direction he heard the sickening strangling noise as the first of the elves hit his trap.

Within a couple of minutes he was free of the forest and turned to his left to draw nigh to the barrier he had felt.

~ * ~

As he paced his house Nick frowned. It was growing late and each passing second might cost Monroe his life; checking his wrist-watch Nick saw that the time was seven. _That’s it. I’ve waited long enough._

Peering through the curtains Nick couldn’t see any police cars keeping vigil over his house, nor his partner’s vehicle. He was pleased that his display of unprofessionalism hadn’t caused Renard to post a watch over him.

Retrieving the bag he had stashed in a downstairs cupboard Nick slipped through the kitchen and out the back door. He wanted as few people to notice his absence as possible. To this end he avoided taking his own car and briskly set off down his street. The neighbours would all be busy with their own families and unlikely to glance through shut curtains.

He was fortunate that Juliette was with friends tonight – ‘catching up’ she had called it. Admittedly, Nick had encouraged her, reassuring his beautiful girlfriend that he would be with a friend. He would be - he just had to find him first.

Reaching the end of his street, Nick went right, maintaining a rapid step. When he was four streets over Nick paused by where he had ordered a cab to meet him.

When it arrived Nick smiled, keeping his cap low and his voice rough. He did nothing during the drive that would allow the driver to recall significant descriptions of him: a bland chatter about the weather, otherwise relative silence.

The driver barely glanced at him, obviously bored and eager for the money part of the fare. Nick granted him just that and then pretended to be heading to one of the houses to knock on the door. The minute the cab was out-of-sight though, Nick darted off, struggling to compose himself so he wouldn’t arouse any suspicion.

However, no-one was about on the streets, so Nick had an easy time reaching his final destination: a house at the end of a long street.

Nick observed the building. It was far off the main street: excellent, no witnesses.

It appeared nice and homely. Plant tendrils clung to the house front, framing a beautiful wooden door. Golden light glimmered where the curtains were partly open. He could detect the faint strains of uplifting music: a harp?

He didn’t really care. Nick was only concerned that the light and noise signalled that the occupant was home. Squaring his shoulders Nick swallowed and summoned up the ghost of his ancestors. He would need all of his Grimm heritage to survive the next few hours and to save Monroe.

Nick now opened the long bag and took out Aunt Marie’s gift. Striding up the driveway Nick headed straight for the door. After much internal debate, Nick had decided that a direct approach would be least expected so now he went for the front door.

Hammering on the solid wood Nick was rewarded when it swung open to reveal Faxon Wald.

 

 

~ * ~

Monroe doubled over, panting, he had to halt. The sun was a crimson-golden glow on the horizon, the circular edge still peeping over, spilling a pinkish-honey glow into the world. The woods to his right were quieting as the exchange between day-time creatures and night-life began.

The first stars were faint pinpricks, waiting for the sun to fully set ere blazing in full glory.

Weary and anxious to rest if not wholly sleep, Monroe searched for a suitable location. He found one in the lee of a sprawling tree, with down-swept branches.

First things first, he had to set up the most vital thing immediately: a shelter.

He was on the very boundary of the forest. It didn’t make Monroe feel particularly safe as it could conceal elves quite easily. Camping in the open field facing him wasn’t a much prettier prospect as it left him vulnerable on all sides. At least with a strong thick tree at his back he cut off one pathway. He also checked to see if it was likely that any branches would fall on him, however, everything appeared sound.

The tree was one Monroe had never seen either in the wild or in any book. The trunk was massive. It would take twenty well-built men to surround the tree, holding their arms outstretched. The branches started low. The boughs nearest to Monroe were thicker, being older and their leaves were also large.

Monroe could still see their colour: a dappled silver effect, and a rough oval shape. The boughs were numerous enough that they would provide some protection from rain, but Monroe wished to add to their cover.

Searching the nearby forest floor the Blutbad collected as many fallen branches as he could find. Then, with some effort he began weaving the lighter boughs in-between the branches. Shortly he had a reasonable shelter. Relieved, Monroe crawled under. Underneath his half-natural half-unnatural roof the forest floor was dry and Monroe could imagine a snug night ahead.

He could also more importantly still see out across the field. Now he had his next task: building a fire. With it he could keep wild animals at bay (admittedly, the majority would avoid a Blutbad anyway) and the welcoming flames would maintain warmth and grant a flickering light, coupled with being able to provide hot food and beverages: important psychological assets when surviving. It was something that many forgot: fire didn’t simply mean warmth, it signified that along with comfort, dryness, protection and food: the very basics of life.

Monroe crouched down, focusing. Claws elongated from his fingers, hands partially turning. Monroe’s face also transformed, becoming sharper, angular and beard and hair becoming furrier. He wished to be able to identify any elves if they came close while he worked and being in half-wolf form would aid his task.

He dug, clawing earth to the side until a shallow pit was dug. Then Monroe pulled over the remaining dry branches and twigs he had found. He also dug out of his back-pack the stones he had picked up by the stream that Monroe had passed by not long hence.

Breathing deeply, Monroe relaxed as much as he was able. Night was drawing in; already a human would be hardly able to see. To light a fire successfully Monroe needed to be calm and act while he was still not too exhausted.

He placed the stones in a small circle then carefully arranged some of the twigs and loose leaves in a smallish pile just off-centre of the circle.

Next he pulled from a trouser pocket a fire stick and a small waterproof packet. Tearing open the packet gently Monroe extracted some fluffy cotton.

Kneeling down, Monroe laid the cotton in the centre of the circle, beside his pile of twigs. Gathering his fire-stick up, Monroe now withdrew his knife. He held the blade of the knife at the top of the flint stick, one hand securely around the fire-stick handle, the other firmly gripping the knife.

Then he put the fire-stick next to the cotton and scraped the blade of the knife hard down the flint length. Immediately sparks flew. Monroe hissed in pleasure. Again he dragged his knife down the stick and watched the sparks jumped and were caught by the cotton. Instantly the soft material ignited, smouldering.

Hurriedly Monroe put his implements down and picked up the cotton. Carefully cradling the ball he blew gently, helping the embers to leap into life. Warily, but with controlled speed, Monroe lowered the cotton to the ground and fed leaves and twigs to it. Soon his fire was blooming and Monroe knew he wouldn’t have to feed too much more to it for the moment.

During the night however, he would keep adding branches, so that a good blaze encouraged the elves to think twice of approaching: fire could be utilised as a weapon.

~ * ~

Faxon’s shocked gasp and terrified expression brought a clench of pleasure to Nick. Let him suffer just a fraction of what he was enduring now.

Anticipating Faxon’s move to try and shut his door Nick jammed his arm against the surface and slammed it open. Revealing his weapon Nick swung his arm up in a blur, a sword point nestled under Faxon’s chin.

The elf froze.

“Yes,” whispered Nick softly, grey eyes hard like granite. “You know how this sword was forged.”

Faxon choked out an affirmative. It confirmed Nick’s suspicions that this sword could be his answer to dealing effectively with the elves. The knowledge boosted his confidence.

“Then you understand that with this blade I can kill you.” Nick kicked the door shut with his foot and shoved Faxon against his corridor wall. He exerted more pressure against Faxon’s neck.

“Yes,” gasped Faxon. The elf didn’t dare struggle, obviously understanding his perilous situation.

“Great. Now listen, Faxon – elf – whatever you are called. You, your people, have my friend. Monroe is his name. Do you know anything about this?”

Faxon reluctantly answered. “Yes.”

Nick felt a surge of anger and terror. _Monroe._ “Why?” he spat out.

“Because he’s with you, because he entered our forest.”

Nick restrained himself from cutting down with his sword. Instead he concentrated on what he came here for.

“Well, you miscalculated. I want him back and believe me Faxon, if I don’t have Monroe back safe with me within the next hour I will personally see to it that I live up to my ancestors’ name.”

Nick bent down to whisper into Faxon’s ear. “You know what their teaching is? To hunt down the bad ones. Looks like that you and your friends fit that description. I’ve not followed that mostly. However, you have successfully infuriated the resident Grimm in Portland.”

Faxon whimpered. “Please, we don’t mean any harm! Mr Jones, he desecrated the forest! We were here first. Why should human laws count?”

Nick snarled. “Because you live among us! Murder is wrong and he would have been fined and unlikely to return to your woods. I admit, I will never be able to bring you to justice. There is no tangible evidence that any human court will accept. So,”

Nick drew back so that Faxon could see the wrath in his face, but kept his body tight against the elf so he could feel the vibration of his anger and worry, blade marring the delicate flesh at Faxon’s throat. “So,” Nick repeated, “by killing under your law and no admissible proof for a human jury, I’ll therefore enact Grimm justice and wield it with sword.”

“But…your friend?”

Nick smiled grimly. Faxon was brighter than he acted. “Monroe…here is the deal: you retrieve Monroe for me, deliver him safely and on top of that, hunt down no further victims and I’ll let you all go. If you break your word then I’ll destroy you all. If Monroe is dead… then I think you’ll know what will happen.”

Nick watched and waited. He could tell the minute that Faxon realised that the elves had no choice. Nick would find a way to end them if needs be and if it meant hunting down the bad ones, he would do so. He just rather not emulate his fore-bearers in such a manner.

“I agree. I’ll go to my people and retrieve your friend.”

“No, I’m coming with you. And how can I trust you that the rest of your bunch of merry elves agree to my terms?”

Faxon gazed at him. Nick felt a shiver trail down his spine when the trapped elf said: “Because there is no other choice, but to consent to your terms. Also, when we are close to the woods my people will be able to hear me if I concentrate. We must hurry.”

Nick nodded. Stepping back from Faxon Nick gestured with the naked blade that shone in the overhead light. “Go.”

~ * ~

_“Monroe.”_

Monroe shot up from where he had ben reclining on a sleeping mat laid over a bed of leaves. The fire glowed with warmth, the heat a welcome presence in the now cold night.

The Blutbad cocked his head and listened. There was the cry again. It rose on the night air then fell into eerie hush.

_“Monroe, why won’t you come to me? Monroe?”_

“Nick?” whispered Monroe, perplexed. Why would Nick call to him? Why not just enter his shelter?

Scrambling to a kneeling position Monroe peered warily out into the darkness. His vision coupled with that of the burning fire was enough for him to see.

There was nobody outside. The field stretched out in front of him, vast, mostly dark and silent. The sky was crowded with stars and a half-moon which illuminated everything in a peculiar silvery glimmer.

The field was conspicuously absent of Nick.

Monroe contemplated his situation. It was highly unlikely that Nick would a) would speak as the voice had done, b) ask him why Monroe wasn’t coming to Nick, his friend was far more likely to ask where Monroe was and finally c) if Nick knew where he was or suspected he would be asking either to enter or for Monroe to show himself: not necessarily completely vacate his own protection.

“What’s your game?” breathed Monroe, instincts fully attentive. Keeping his eyes open, Monroe inhaled. He turned his head from side to side scenting the air. He couldn’t smell Nick anywhere. The voice had been close so logically Monroe ought to have been able to sniff Nick out.

_“Monroe? Come on Monroe! I need you!”_

Monroe growled. Not only couldn’t he pick up Nick’s distinctive scent, but by scrutinising the calling voice he realised that the tone was just that little wrong.

It wasn’t Nick pleading for him to reveal himself, but the elves.

“Good try, but it won’t work on this Blutbad.”

Monroe fell back to his fire, sitting down. He gently added a handy thick branch to the flames, watching as the yellow-orange tongues began eating the wood. He would not drowse anymore this night.

 “Where are you Nick? I don’t think I can get out of this on my own.”

~ * ~

Faxon parked his small environmentally friendly, (Nick snorted at the thought), car some distance from the park boundaries. Any closer and they might be caught. Since Nick had no desire for his colleagues to stop him – at least before he had Monroe safe and sound – he did not protest.

Exiting Faxon’s car Nick was assessing how best to approach when he realised that Faxon was trying to retrieve an item from his trunk. Nick calmly placed his sword at the small of Faxon’s back.

The elf gulped nervously. “We need to enter the park undetected. I have two items that will allow us to do this.”

He hauled out an oiled leather bag and undid the bindings. He pulled out two belts. “These will permit us to enter without anyone ever seeing us.”

Nick scowled and took one from Faxon in his spare hand. He rubbed his fingers over the material. The belt appeared to consist of a type of animal hide that Nick was unfamiliar with. It was old, the metal clasp showing signs of age.

“How will a couple of belts do that? And why should I trust you that it won’t harm me?”

Faxon licked his lips, his morphed face showing through. His golden-brown eyes were wide.

“They will make us invisible…”

“Really? Like that Invisibility Cloak in the Harry Potter series?”

Faxon sniffed derisively. “No, far more advanced. These belts will not only conceal us from sight but also mask any sounds we make: including speech. Be warned though, we will not become ghosts. We can still be bumped into. The belts grant us exceptions to a few rules, but they will not turn us insubstantial. As for trusting me…I’m too afraid to cross you.”

Nick examined the belt and Faxon. He could almost smell the stench of fear rolling off the young elf. He could also hear the truth ringing in Faxon’s words. Deceit would gain nothing for the elf, because Nick would surely kill him with whatever strength he had left if he attempted to betray him.

Nodding, Nick asked: “Okay, what do I do?”

Faxon relaxed a fraction. “Wrap the belt around your waist and fasten it as tightly as you can.”

He watched as Nick lowered his sword and swiftly drew the belt around his waist. Nick was aware of Faxon’s probing gaze that didn’t diminish when he looked up. “Yes?”

The elf shivered. “May I ask…? This friend, Monroe…a Blutbad and a Grimm? How?”

Nick knew there wasn’t enough time to explain, though he wished to help Faxon to understand. It might cause the elves to comprehend how serious he was. “How? I don’t have enough time and you don’t have the right. Suffice to say that Monroe knows me. We have no secrets.”

Faxon nodded slowly. “He’s your thousandth man. ‘ _Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend_ _On what the world sees in you,_ _But the Thousandth man will stand your friend. With the whole round world agin you.’_ ” He quoted.

Nick inclined his head, a genuine smile briefly appearing. “The Thousandth Man by Rudyard Kipling. Yes, that poem describes us. Then you’ll understand why I’m doing what I am.”

“Yes.”

“Just recall the last line elf, and you and your kin might survive the ordeal.”

Faxon did his belt up and said. “We are now invisible to prying eyes. We must hurry to save your friend.”

“I can see you.”“You wear the belt of the elves that is why. To all others only the night exists.”

 

Nick hesitated then loosened the belt. Immediately Faxon faded into nothingness. Hissing Nick redid his belt and Faxon rematerialized.

“Damn.”

“Indeed.”

Nick gestured with his blade. “Walk.”

Faxon led the way, but as they padded into the inky blackness he uttered softly, voice like a faint breeze: _“But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side. To the gallows-foot -- and after.”_

_  
_

~ * ~

 

Nick’s scent brushed the delicate insides of Monroe’s nose. Glancing up Monroe blinked in astonishment. Nick stood before him, smiling in relief.

“Monroe!”

“Nick?”

Recalling the last trick by the elves, Monroe didn’t dash forwards as he yearned to do.

The dark-haired detective grinned. “Yes, Monroe. It’s me.” Nick shot a look over his shoulder. “We must hurry Monroe. I think I lost them for the moment.”

Monroe didn’t budge, instead assessing his friend. Discreetly he tasted his friend in his mouth, seeking the undeniable traces that would signify Nick and no-one else.

“What’s the hurry? Let me grab my backpack first and come on in, you’re vulnerable out there.”

Nick did not move, just stared at Monroe. “No time! Come on!”

Monroe laughed harshly. This time he didn’t hide how he dragged in a good mouthful of air, sampling the pheromones emanating from Nick, eyes probing the figure, twitching his elongated ears in his morphed face.

“I don’t think so.”

Anger flowed across Nick’s features. “Why not? Monroe, this isn’t funny.”

The Blutbad without trepidation drew a burning branch from the fire. Holding the flickering brand out to Nick, Monroe said, “You’re right it isn’t funny, but dude. Give me a bit of credit. I can tell you aren’t Nick.” Tapping his nose Monroe repeated to the apparition what he had once said to Nick: “The nose knows.”

Waving the branch, Monroe continued. “Now get out before my hand convulses and accidently launches this smoking fire in your face.”

Fury blazed in the apparition’s eyes, then with an outraged shriek it melted into the air and only Monroe, his camp and the night remained.

“Crap that was close.”

Monroe lowered his stick and quickly extinguished the flames. He might need it again. He eyed his stock. “I hope I have enough.”

Resuming his vigil Monroe gazed out into the treacherous silence.

  ~ * ~

_Forest Park_

The minute they were safely inside the Park Faxon halted. Nick observed as Faxon raised both hands and chanted in a beautiful lyrical tongue, waving his hands in a complex pattern in the air.

They had made excellent time. No-one had seen them and no cameras had reacted to their presence.

Now Nick stayed quiet allowing Faxon to work his magic. The elf had warned him that they had no time to walk to the scene; he would have to transport them there. Nick hadn’t been thrilled, but he knew how desperate the situation was so had agreed.

Faxon stopped speaking and Nick suddenly experienced a distortion of reality. He was embraced by hot air and had the strongest inclination to vomit. The sensation passed quickly and Nick blinking found himself in the clearing.

A peculiar sheen covered the clearing, illuminating the woods for Nick.

Faxon stood beside him, eyes closed, lips moving, but no words being issued.

Then Nick saw them. Two elves standing at the edge of the forest, the trees sentinels at their backs.

The Grimm knew instantly that these elves were far older than Faxon, their eyes and the way of their demeanour: straight backs and stern expressions told as much.

Nick unclasped the belt though he realised that the two elves could see them anyway. Their power was formidable, yet Nick didn’t even feel like cowering. He was too driven. His spirit at this instant was indomitable:  he had a mission and could not fail.

Faxon stepped forward and began to speak in hurried tones.

The two elves features gradually resolved into twin expressions of dismay and the faint strains of dread. Nick met their unwavering searching looks.

Nick grasped the moment he had won when he watched the two elves simultaneously bow their heads in acceptance.

The revelation that Monroe would soon be returned made Nick want to yell and collapse in equal measures. He did neither, refraining from any emotion bar fierceness.

One of the elves now addressed him.

“Grimm.”

“Yes,” replied Nick, ensuring his voice was devoid of anything but coldness.

“We accept your terms. We have no desire to face your wrath.”

The elf raised a hand. “Please understand we meant no harm.”

“Really? Well, we’ll just forget the murder shall we and the kidnapping of my friend.”

The elf stared blankly.

“Remember to not break our deal, otherwise…”

“There is no need to finish your threat Nick Burkhardt. I am well aware of your ancestors’ capacity for their work. I am even more knowledgeable of your aunt’s legacy. Do not approach with your sword – take it far from us and we will do as you bid.”

Nick nodded. “Great. Where’s Monroe?”

The elf placed his hand on his companion who had silver-coloured hair. The elf opened his mouth and sang. Nick was profoundly grateful for being a Grimm as the song was so mind-numbingly beautiful he could comprehend why so many humans just followed these elves either to their deaths or to their world and were lost for years.

The air contracted and then actually rippled. Nick inhaled the perfume of flowers and plants foreign to his reality. He heard a crackling fire and a murmuring voice, the scrape of feet waiting in the blackness and a glimpse of large white stars glowing in heavens that weren’t here.

Then Monroe was standing in the clearing, still holding a branch with flames licking at it’s length.

_“Monroe!”_

~ * ~

Monroe swore as he his shelter disappeared. He only had time to snatch his impromptu torch before he was standing in a clearing. He weaved on his feet as he adjusted to the change.

And for what seemed the hundredth attempt that night he heard a familiar voice shout his name.

Glancing up he froze. Nick stood before him, delight suffusing his face. This Nick held a sword in his right hand. Beside him was an elf, Monroe took a wild guess and assumed it was Faxon. Near Monroe, too close really, were two other elves. All the elves were staring at him with great concern.

“Monroe?”

Monroe focused on Nick. Could it truly be his friend? His Nick?

As if understanding his doubt, this Nick flung himself at Monroe. Monroe only just managed to raise his arms to catch Nick and then he was assailed by everything that was the man in his arms: touch confirmed that this was Nick – Nick’s own hands ran over his body, probing for damage; sight drank in the picture of grey eyes anxiously searching his own, gaze brushing over Monroe seeking injury; his ears twitched as he heard Nick’s litany:

“Monroe? It’s me Monroe. Are you okay? I swear I’ve been looking for you, just couldn’t come sooner. Monroe?”

Oh yeah, that tone, the rise and fall of that voice was all Nick’s. There was zero off about it.

The scent rising from this Nick was the one he remembered: the smell of danger, determination, and eagerness to talk first (yes that had a scent too!), the sweetness of Nick’s generous, fair nature underscoring the unique make-up of Nick Burkhardt.

And if Monroe the Blutbad had any doubts, Nick dispelled them right there and then.

“Monroe?”

Grey eyes shining with worry and relief caught him. “It is me, no elf would trust you with this.”

Nick titled his head to the side, exposing the veins in his neck to Monroe. Monroe wanted to cry in relief and despair. “You’re right,” and he winced at how it came out as a low rumbling growl, vibrating through _both_ their bodies. “Only one Grimm – one human – is stupid enough to bare his throat to a Blutbad, even if the Blutbad is his friend.” Nick was correct, no elf would do this, there was the chance that Monroe figuring out the deception would be fast enough to bite down and tear out the elf’s throat.

Needing one last confirmation, Monroe bent his head, he could hear the thump of Nick’s heart: steady and so trusting.

He recalled how he had tasted Nick once before: It had been during a rather unpleasant case involving a chase through the streets of Portland. Both Nick and he had been ducking around buildings, hiding in the dark, doing their best to lure the crazed Blutbad, (who had taken personal offence at Monroe’s aiding a Grimm), that was hunting them away from populated areas. Unfortunately, the Blutbad had a good sense of smell and they were out of Wolfsbane – and Nick was wounded. In desperation Monroe had licked the jagged cut in Nick’s hand, hoping that by lathering him in his saliva it would at least diminish the scent of Nick’s blood, and doubled up by shoving Nick in his jacket.

It worked to an extent. They gained ground and were able to set a trap, which the maddened Blutbad was stomped straight into.

He opened his mouth, saliva dripping from his fangs and ever so gently licked Nick’s tender flesh.

He grinned like a fool. Yup, that tasted right. This was Nick Burkhardt, his own personal stupid, crazy Grimm. “Idiot Grimm.”

Nick burst out laughing and straightened in his grasp.

“Good to see you Nick.”

“Likewise.”

Recalling their audience they stepped out of their embrace and faced the three elves.

Monroe saw the elf by the silver-haired one incline his head. “You are satisfied Grimm?”

Nick nodded. “Yes, this is Monroe and he is unharmed. Now swear you abide by my terms: repeat them to me.”

All the elves in the clearing did so adding their kin into the binding deal between Nick and them. Monroe knew his jaw was sagging. Nick had done all this for him? Audacious and definitely flattering.

He was never letting Nick go anywhere by himself from now on. All Grimm related business had to go through Monroe.

Monroe nodded to himself. He had to watch his Grimm. Evidently, when he wasn’t around Nick was busy terrifying various creatures into submission.

The elves had finished and Monroe found himself being led by Nick’s guiding hand on his shoulder to the elf who he assumed was Faxon.

“Faxon, get us out of here.”

“Yes.”

Again the world shifted and Monroe discovered they were just inside the Park boundaries. Before he could speak Nick was fastening a belt around him and ushering him out down a street.

Monroe didn’t look back, glad to leave the creepy woods and lethal elves behind.

~ * ~

They ended up in Monroe’s house. Clearly Nick wasn’t going to leave Monroe and frankly, Monroe had no desire be alone after his recent experience.

So, somehow, they had successfully navigated back to Monroe’s place, a frightened Faxon dropping them off on a road of Nick’s choosing. Then the elf had high-tailed it – not that Monroe blamed him, Nick was still wound up over Monroe’s disappearance.

A cab later and finally they had been stumbling into the warm dark living room.

Monroe had wanted nothing more than to first wash and then eat a proper meal. Both tasks were more difficult than he expected as he had to order a tense Grimm to wait outside his damn shower thank you very much!

Monroe yanked off his grimy clothes relived to be free of the soiled garments. His nose twitched as he caught a good whiff at not only the clothes but his own stench. “Wow…a little much huh.”

Reaching into the shower Monroe turned on the tap, content when a nice spray started up. After a moment the water was pleasantly hot so Monroe stepped in – not before yelling at Nick naturally.

“Nick, I’m just getting into the shower. Keep your Grimm self outside okay?”

“Yeah sure Monroe!”

Monroe rolled his eyes. “Great, I have an over-protective Grimm camped in my bedroom. Mom, Dad, I swear this is a good thing.”

Reaching for the shampoo Monroe groaned (quietly, he didn’t need a sword slash gun wielding Nick Burkhardt to break down his bathroom door). The water was _perfection_. It eased his sore and weary muscles, washing away the filth that had clung to his skin. Scrubbing the herbal shampoo into his hair Monroe could smell and feel his hair coming clean.

Soon he was scraping soap through his beard grinning as a snagged bit of forest came free.

All too shortly Monroe was stepping out of the shower. He was reluctant, but he didn’t want to keep Nick waiting and if he was honest with himself, he was eager to see Nick as well.

So he rushed through drying himself, wrapped a towel around his waist and wandered into his bedroom.

“What on earth…? Dude, that’s my bed, at least have the decency not to dump your gun on it.”

Nick leapt up with a guilty expression. “Better than holding it right?” he protested.

“Uh huh, so much safer on the bed where I can sit on it.” Monroe walked over to his cupboard and drew out a clean shirt and boxer shorts. “We’re safe Nick. I’m serious.”

Monroe turned at the silence that met his comment to discover Nick busily scanning his chest (and presumably a second previously, his back). Obviously, Nick was more concerned with checking that Monroe wasn’t concealing any wounds to respond.

Monroe opened his mouth only to shut it. A mountain of emotion had arisen and he struggled to resolve the varied feelings.

The depth of Nick’s concern and continued anxiety for his well-being caused a warm feeling to fill Monroe’s belly. As he stood returning Nick’s tense gaze, the warm sensation welled all over as Monroe considered Nick’s actions.

He felt awe, happiness and maybe a touch of fear at what Nick had done this night. Monroe clenched his hands, breathing harshly, face morphing.

It had been so long since he had family – being Wieder cut you off from your traditional relatives – and now Nick, who had risked everything for Monroe, had basically declared that he considered Monroe important, a friend he would do anything for. It was confirmation of all their nights spent cracking a Grimm case, of their shared jokes and tears, of their precious moments simply enjoying each other’s company; except that now it had finally sunk in properly.

It was overwhelming, leaving Monroe bereft of his usual snarkiness. Sucking in a much needed gulp of steadying air, Monroe strode the three steps to where Nick was rooted. Considering the fraught situation Monroe didn’t whine about Nick’s paranoia.  Rather he did what he could to show Nick he appreciated his friend’s feelings and to comfort him. Monroe simply touched Nick. The Grimm had always been very demonstrative so Monroe copied the gestures.

Carefully, as if petting a wild animal Monroe reached out a hand, tipped with claws. For the life of him Monroe was unable to control the swell of feelings that made him shift. By the raw look in Nick’s grey eyes, neither could Nick.

His fingers touched Nick’s arm and the Grimm sucked in his own breath, head ducked all of a sudden. Yet Monroe could smell the relief that his touch brought and emboldened Monroe raked his other hand down Nick’s other arm.  Sweetly, trying to put into touch his gratitude, love for Nick and his own relief that Nick was well, Monroe awkwardly rubbed his friend’s arms.

Nick sighed and leaned forward a little. Shifting his grip Monroe pressed his large hands on the shorter man’s shoulders and as if that was a signal Nick fell against Monroe and cue an embarrassing hug.  It did it though as both Blutbad and man felt a missing piece click back into place. Monroe scented Nick, confirming through touch that this was his Nick, his friend.

Nick sought the human equivalent, arms a burning embrace as if only through practically breaking Monroe he could be sure that Monroe was really present: not that there was a fear of Monroe shattering so easily.

In the hush Monroe could hear the delicate tick of his clocks and as he listened, drifting in the sea of warmth friendship and contentment provided, they chimed the hour.

Nick seemed to wake from his stupor and withdrew, face red. “I better let you dress.”

He sounded unsure.

“Just turn your back; I think we’ll both survive my pulling on my shorts while you’re still in the room.”

Nick snorted, but swivelled around.

Monroe dressed quickly and then they were down his stairs and in the kitchen. Even here they offered and received reassurance - a press of their bodies as they cooked something simple to eat. Monroe especially was subtly trying to yell he was alright.

Gradually, over dinner Monroe had the satisfaction of watching Nick unwind, the laughter growing in his grey eyes, no longer so dull, pale face losing the whiteness, a pink healthy flush staining his cheeks.

And now they were on his couch, drinking tea: Monroe hadn’t wanted beer on top of their recent escapade. He had just calmed his Grimm down a bit, no need to give him an idea to reap some vengeance, fuelled by alcohol cum exhaustion.

“So, tell me how you did it. How did you hold a bunch of elves to ransom? Did you ‘Grimm’ it?”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Monroe I ‘grimmed’ it.” He bumped their shoulders.

Nick drank a sip of tea. “Though actually you’re not far off.”

“From the beginning man.”

“Sure.” Monroe settled down and listened in amazement to Nick’s story. He interrupted only twice.

“Whoa, you went missing in work? Does your captain know about now?”

“No, best leave that to morning.”

Monroe shook his head. “Dude, you live dangerously. But thanks.”

Nick grinned. “You’re welcome. Don’t go missing again.”

“I’ll try.”

“Huh huh.”

The next interruption was when Nick mentioned threatening Faxon with his sword. “Whoa, what caused the elves to be so frightened? I mean, I can see that the metal shines strangely but…”

Nick handed him the sword in question. “It was my aunt’s. She was given it by a half-elf.”

Monroe snapped his head up. “Seriously?!? That’s freaking rare!”

“Yeah…she didn’t know he was a half-elf first. Helped him without realising it. Three days later she receives a knock on her trailer door and when she answers fully prepared to attack, there he is: the man she saved.

“She writes that it was only then she saw a flash of his morphed face. Before she could do anything though, he shoves into her hands a leather scabbard. All he said was: I forged this for you, with all the skills and materials taught to me by the elves. Guard it well, for this weapon will save you when trapped. It will also protect you from my elfish kin. Then he was gone.”

“Your aunt was one scary and lucky lady.”

“Yup. Not as lucky as me though.”

Monroe smirked. “Right, not many Grimms can say they have a Blutbad as a partner.”

“Or a Blutbad declaring he has a Grimm as a friend.”

“Looks like we better stick together then. Friends who are composed of a Grimm and Blutbad can be pretty dangerous.”

Nick laughed. “Friends?”

“You have a problem with me saying it?” Monroe nudged Nick playfully.

“Nope, not at all.”

They both laughed and drank their tea, Nick finishing his story and waiting for Monroe’s turn to share his night adventure.

It was two o’clock by the time they tailed off, blinking away sleep.

“Come on,” Monroe smacked Nick’s thigh. “There is no way I’m sleeping on my couch. Get your ass upstairs.”

“Huh? You don’t want me to crash on the couch.”

“Right, so you’ll just let me wander upstairs alone?”

Nick was sheepish. “Er…no.”

“Well done, get moving and we’ll clear this mess in the morning. Mind sharing?”

Nick snorted. “I took on elves for you and you’re asking if I care sharing? Maybe you did hit your head.”

“Hilarious. Okay, up we go. My shirts are so not going to fit.”

Nick stifled a yawn. “I can sleep in my shirt and boxers.”

“Um, no. Sensitive nose.”

“Meh,” was Nick’s response.

They wearily climbed the stairs, leaving the issue of Nick calling his boss to the dawn.

Now, they simply dressed for bed and slipped under the covers revealing in their friendship and the fact they were both well and alive.

Monroe heard Nick whispering as he drifted to sleep, and answered with his own:

“Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call

For silver and gold in their dealings;” Nick curled in sleep.

 

“But the Thousandth Man h's worth 'em all,

Because you can show him your feelings.” Monroe finished.

 

 

****

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1.) For the mythology part of this fic I have mixed a few different ‘facts’ together for my own take on elves. I apologise if this offends anyone – it just suited the story so I took a few creative liberties.
> 
> 2.) The belt idea was inspired by the tales in folklore of people using belts to transform into werewolves by either putting on or removing a belt.
> 
> 3.) I am not an expert on wilderness survival, I have therefore based my research on what I know from survival shows, but it shouldn’t be used as truth! So everything portrayed here (re: wilderness survival) needs to be taken with a pinch of salt.
> 
> 4.) The Thousandth Man: http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/kipling/thousandth_man.html


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